The City of New Orleans

Uitvoerende(n): Arlo Guthrie
Tekst: Steve Goodman

Riding on the City of New Orleans,
Illinois Central, Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail.
All along the southbound odyssey
The train pulls out at Kankakee
And rolls along past houses, farms and fields
Passin' trains that have no names,
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles.

     Good morning, America, how are you?
     Say, don't you know me? I'm your native son.
     I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,
     I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.

Dealin' card games with the old men in the club car
Penny a point, ain't no one keepin' score.
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels rumblin' 'neath the floor.
And the sons of pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their fathers' magic carpets made of steel.
Mothers with their babes asleep,
Are rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.

     Good morning, America, how are you?
     Say, don't you know me? I'm your native son.
     I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,
     I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.

Nighttime on The City of New Orleans
Changin' cars in Memphis, Tennessee.
Half way home, we'll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness
Rollin' down to the sea.
But all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rails still ain't heard the news.
The conductor sings his song again,
The passengers will please refrain
This train's got the disappearin' railroad blues.

     Good night, America, how are you?
     Say, don't you know me? I'm your native son.
     I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,
     I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.

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Copyright © 2003 Wim Scherpenisse <info@wimscherpenisse.nl>